


Three little mockingbirds

by Alayne_StoneColdFox



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Asoiaf - Fandom, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, F/M, Future Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-08
Updated: 2015-01-14
Packaged: 2018-03-06 16:59:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3141968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alayne_StoneColdFox/pseuds/Alayne_StoneColdFox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A women's duty was to bear her husband sons, and as Lady of the Eyrie and wife of Harold Hardying, Sansa will do her duty. She will provide heirs to the Vale. She will give her husband the sons he wants. She will serve him lies and arbor gold.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“'Tis Lady Sansa's six and tenth nameday tomorrow” Myranda mentioned at the dinner table, by way of conversation.

“Aye” Lord Nestor Royce replied, dipping his bread in his gravy “A shame there will be no such fest as the one held for her last year”

Myranda mustered a laugh “I can't see her dancing and making merry with the size she is now. Her body was not built for child bearing, her swollen stomach looks out of place on her. I had a raven come down from one of her handmaidens just three days ago commenting how huge she is, and it is only the eighth month yet”

“You should not be gossiping harshly about the Lady of the Eyrie, my girl. No good can come of that” Lord Royce said, but with hardly any edge to the words. 

“Oh, hush” Myranda waved a hand “I mean no ill will. Lady Sansa is closer to me than any other woman in her company, considering I was as much of a friend to her when she was but a bastard named Alayne. I would feel no fear saying she is huge to her face, she would probably agree with me!”

Myranda and her Father moved on to other topics as they relaxed in the candle light. It was a quiet night at the gates of the moon, with not much of importance to discuss but the weather. They were close to retiring by the time they heard the shuffling footsteps hurrying to their quarters, before the door was flung open in haste.

“My lord-” The messenger was quick to remember to nod in quick civil respect, but his tone was quite frantic “A raven came but moments ago from the Eyrie. The Lady Sansa, her labor has started, the child is coming now!”

Myranda's eyes widened “What? Now?! But it's not time, she is not due for at least another moon turn!”

The messenger looked at a loss, as Lord Royce grabbed the message from his hands. He scanned it quickly and his face was grave.

Myranda jumped from the table, all a flurry “Gods, I am not even prepared, I thought I had time” she snapped at the closest serving girl, who had been clearing plates “You, quickly, come with me. We need to pack my things. Wait, no, meet me in my room, I will have to alert the nurse maid and tell her to get ready too” Myranda was rushing from the room as the girl “They wont even have had the birthing room prepared up there for her...!”

As Myranda hurried away with the other women, the messenger approached Lord Royce.

“My Lord, I will reply right away, tell them that the birthing party is sparing no minute in getting to her”

Royce nodded “See that you do”

“And, ah...should I send out other ravens? To the other Houses, to let them know that Lady Sansa's and Lord Harrold's first child is on its way-”

“No!” the reply came out sharp and low “No, not until....not until we know it has gone well. Babes born more than a moon turn early...their fate is not always a good one” he ended quietly.

The messenger nodded with solemn understanding, but as he hurried off down the corridor, Lord Royce called back out to him.

“Oh, but you will need to send out one other raven” he said as an after thought “Lord Baelish will no doubt need to hear of this”

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Sansa had thought she was used to the lies of songs by now, after all she had been through, but somehow she had still fell victim to the lies of child birth.

It was a beautiful thing, to bring a child into the world. To walk with your belly jutting out for the world to see, proud to show that you were doing your duty as a good woman and loyal wife. You were given a glow to your cheeks, a serene smile, as you knew you would be giving life to another human being.

Lies. All lies.

No one had told Sansa of how bad the sickness would be in the mornings, greeting too many days with retching. No one had mentioned how her feet would swell so much she could not fit into her satin shoes anymore, or how her back would ache, how puffy her face would look...

And the pain of the birth.

She had been told it would be like her monthly pains, but only worse. Sansa had nodded, thinking she understood, that she was ready for it.

But by the gods, as she lie there, with her body dripping in sweat, her breath coming in hard pants, her throat hurting from the screams she couldn't help but let out, ragged and wailing as her body struggled, her insides twisting, she could not understand how her own Mother had done this five times over.

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Benjen Hardying was born a little after morning on Sansa's sixteenth name day.

Delivered safe and breathing well, to the surprise and relief of all, as the master pulled him screaming into the world, and placed him in Sansa's arms.

The next few days had been tense, with whispers between handmaidens about how long he might last. How many mothers had fallen into a sense of security, only to have their newborn taken from them in that first week.

But a week had passed, and there were no signs to indicate anything wrong with the child, nor Lady Sansa.

A blessing he was called. To be born this strong despite his odds. Born on his Mothers name day. A first born son.

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Harrold Hardyng, Lord of the Vale, had been enjoying the hunt with his men when he all but ran into Petyr Baelish in the vast fields down below the Eyrie.

He had spotted the Old Lord protector as he rode towards them with his small litter.

“Lord Baelish!” he had greeted, in high spirits, as he had been the past week “We only got your raven a few days ago. You made it here with haste!”

“Aye, my Lord” Petyr greeted him, both men still on their horses as they rode to still “I came as soon as I could. I take it that everything went-”

“As well as it could have, do not look so worried” Harry smiled “My boy is alive and the Maester says all is fine with him. He says the same of My Lady as well” he turned to his men “No longer the protector, but here he is, still fretting over us, come straight to our side to protect” he said, with a laugh in his well meaning tone.

He didn't notice the hardness of Petyr's gaze towards him, but then again, he never did.

“Forgive me for being concerned, my Lord. When I heard the news of the early labor, I feared the worst”

“As did the most of us” Harry nodded “And I know how close you are to my wife, and how you would worry almost twice as much, as both an Uncle and a Father” he laughed again.

Petyr could not stand how much the boy laughed, often at his own japes, but he smiled nonetheless.

The story of 'Alayne' was well known by now. How Lord Petyr Baelish had brought the disguised Sansa Stark to the vale. How he had protected her, acted as a Father to her for the whole Vale to see,wept at her side at the funeral of poor Sweet Robin, before revealing her to the world as Sansa Stark just before she was to become Sansa Hardying. Then he ceased being her Father, though he still did not leave her side, even as he was back to simply being her Uncle by marriage.

And that's all he was. A kindly old Uncle, with kindly old concern.

He aided Harry in the more boring matters of Lordship. Counting coppers, the council meetings, the constant signing of papers....more often than not he could count on the old man simply taking care of it himself, for which Harry was thankful for, as he left the drudgery to him as he went off riding, or hawking.

Harry was even more thankful for this when he left with the Vale and Riverland's armies, to gain back his wife's Northen lands from the Bolton's. Harry had spared no time, since half the North had rallied behind them so quickly, eager to help rid themselves of a Bolton's rule.

It was a monumental task, the North being as vast as it was, but after months of battles they had taken back The Neck and Moat Cailin, as well as Old Castle and white harbor.

The war was not over, with Ramsey Bolton was not yet dead and Winterfell long from theirs, but the battle was won. They had laid claim to the lower half of the North, with little damage to their own army's, and a lasting effect on the Boltons. They were weakened, driven further into the North where for now they seemed content to stay. It was only a matter of time before they need take up arms again, when news of bolton forces rose up again, but for now they were in a time of pause.

Harry had seen fit to return to the Vale, after he was reminded that it would be best to have heirs in his House, before he rode off to war for the second time. This had been Lord Baelish, in fact, in a well meaning Raven, congratulating him on the battles won.

Then, little under a month after he had even been back in his Lady Sansa's bed, Harry had remembered how delighted he had been when he had delivered the news of Sansa's pregnancy to him, with Petyr clapping him on the shoulder, glad to see the two he had brought together so happy to start their family.

“But I Jest” Harry continued “Truly, I am always comforted by your presence and the aid you bring my family, we think of you as are own. Me and Sansa both would have wanted you here with us at the birth of our first son”

“Your words touch me, my Lord” Petyr nodded, a gracious smile on his lips.

O0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o00o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Sansa stared down at her baby.

Her baby.

She could scarcely believe it. She'd waited nine months for him, known she would have him her whole life, as was her duty, and now here he was.

He cried so much though, and though she liked to rock him as she paced around her rooms, him cradled into her neck, it was often a relief to let the wet nurse take him, latching him to her breast, letting Sansa take her rest. The advantage only highborn mothers got, she supposed.

But for now he was quiet, content to rest against her breast as she sat up against the pillows of her bed, the curtains drawn against the sun.

She ran a finger gently over his head, his softness such a comfort.

It was easy to understand the way of Mothers now. How her own had sat with Bran after his fall for days without rest. How Cersei had managed to love even Joffrey. Sansa stared down at her little boy and she could understand how it was possible. She could see herself forgiving him almost anything. To want to give him everything.

“Benjen. An old name for your new boy”

Sansa looked up to see him in her doorway.

Petyr. He was here.

She smiled. The first thought to her head was to ask if he liked it, the name she had chosen, but she stopped that thought from leaving her tongue. 

“It's what I've wanted to call my first boy since I was young enough to think of such things” she said, thinking back to when her and Jeyne Pool had whispered under covers of what their futures would be. So many of those whispers would never happen, the wishes of dreamy young girls, but this? This name she could still have.

“Your uncle's name is Benjen” Petyr added, stepping gently over to her bedside.

Not the one that gave you your scar, Sansa wanted to point out.

“Yes, It is a Stark name” she said “Two Kings of Winterfell had that name also”

Petyr nodded “Benjen the Bitter and Benjen the Sweet”

Did Petyr know her family lineage as well as she did? Sansa suspected he did.

“As well as Benjen, son of Artos, and Benjen, son of Bennard” she finished “It is a shame my son has to be a Hardyng rather than a Stark. He would have been the sixth of his name”

“It conjures up that image of the North still. It was a smart choice”

Sansa smiled. He didn't have to like it, but he did approve of it. This was a compliment in itself, coming from Petyr.

She noticed him staring, first at her, then down at the bundle in her arms. What she wouldn't give to know what was running through his head right now. He wasn't totally unreadable. Sansa liked to think herself able to see through his masks well these days, after the years that had passed.

She half wondered if he wanted to hold him, but she would wait for him to ask. She suspected he wouldn't.

“His eyes are blue, you know” Sansa said, back to staring back down to her boy “The Maester said that a newborns eye colour is like to change over time, but I don't know how much I believe that. He opens them up so wide when he looks at me, and they are so blue I can't stop looking at them”

Petyr ventured over to her side, to peer down at Benjen with her.

“Let me see then. Let me see if he has your Tully blue eyes”

Sansa watched as Petyr reached out a gentle finger to tuck the babe under the chin, making him let out a little gurgle as he wriggled slightly In her arms.

“Shhh, shhh” Petyr chided.

They waited until Benjen graced them with a fluttering of his eyes, looking up at them.

“See? Beautiful” Sansa was sure no baby had been born with more lovely eyes.

Petyr gave her a nod “Maybe he will have your red hair as well”

Sansa bit her lip “Maybe he will” Benjen was now awake in full, stretching out a hand, as if getting a feel for this world he was now in “Or maybe he will have dark hair”

She felt Petyr shift besides her “Maybe he will” he said, lowly.

That 'maybe' hung in the air between them.

“I...” Sansa started “I have thought that if he did, I would say that my Father had dark hair. As well as my sister. I have the Tully colouring but the Stark blood runs through me also”

“It is good you have thought about it, but I wouldn't worry too much about such things” Petyr said, his voice quiet “Cersei Lannister had three blonde haired bastards in Kings landing for seventeen years until people even questioned it, and that was only when pointed in the right direction. If luck is with us, you won't even be made to answer for the shade of his hair”

Sansa stroked the top of Benjen's head again, and he smiled at her. His little mouth gaping up at her, and she couldn't help but smile back, even if she felt the slight prick of tears at her eyes.

Luck had never been with her.

“I hope so” she said in a whisper.

Her little boy.

Her little bastard.

Then she felt a kiss atop her head, an arm around her shoulder. It was as affectionate as it was firm. To let him know he was here. It was supportive. It was possessive.

“It will be alright, sweetling”

At the sound of the familiar pet name, the one she hadn't heard muttered for months now, the smell of mint as he leant close.

It had hit her how she missed him. That she was relieved he was back. Sansa knew Petyr Baelish was not a good man, she could never escape that fact, but at this point in the game, was she even good herself anymore? They were bonded now, irreversibly, through all the lies and secrets, and the fact that now he was the only one who would ever know the extent of who she truly was. Everyone else knew her real name though, they even knew her fake one. 

Petyr was the only one who knew all of her, every stain, every tarnish. The imperfections no one else would ever see under the mask she wore so well, and though she knew she might never know all of Petyr, she knew enough. She knew more than most. It went unsaid, but he needed her as much as she needed him.

They had been joined in this game together for so long, she could not imagine playing alone.

Sansa looked down at her boy. She had brought a new piece into this game. His innocence would be too brief. For know he didn't know what he was. What he could be. 

He was Benjen Hardyng. The first born son of Sansa and Harold Hardying, heir to the Vale. His first breaths were of the cold mountain air, his first steps would be at the Eyrie.

He was Benjen Stark. Perhaps the heir to Winterfell one day, brave and adverse to the cold as those of Stark blood seemed to be.

He was Benjen Tully, with those big blue eyes.

He was Benjen Baelish.

And who knew what that meant.


	2. Chapter 2

Benjen was two when Sansa fell pregnant for the second time, and only three moon turns after it was announced, her husband had gone off to battle again, the Vale army behind him.

Sansa had not anticipated war to be such a messy affair. Long and drawn out. Was that just the way her husband chose to play it? Battle after battle, the North won back bit by bit? How long would it take, how many times would she see her husband march off, gone for months, while she sat up here at the Eyrie, whelping children while time passed.

She feared she would be in her forties, with a litter of twenty, before she ever saw Winterfell again.

As that thought passed her mind she felt a twinge of guilt, thinking of Harry trudging through the muddy land the Boltons had neglected the past few years, cold and wet and weary, while she traced the halls of the Eyrie, the same walk over and over. Sansa was not looking forward to the point where her long and graceful strides would turn into more of a waddle in the coming months. Myranda was right, she could admit. Pregnancy did not suit her.

“Wandering about alone are we, my Lady?”

Sansa stopped to turn at the sound of Petyr's voice.

“Could the same be said of you, Lord Baelish?”

My Lady. Lord Baelish. The titles they must use when other ears may be listening, even in these hollow halls.

They were only ever Petyr and Sansa behind closed doors.

“It could” he stepped gently to her before they started forward together, walking at a leisurely pace “Does my Lady have trouble finding company? What has become of your hand maidens?”

“I sent them away for the afternoon. Sometimes one prefers their own company” Sansa said, matching Petyr's false courtier voice with her own, their words filled with nothing.

She saw Petyr raise an eyebrow.

“....all they insist on chattering about is the baby” Sansa said in answer to his silent question, placing a hand on her stomach.

“Is that not to be expected? You are beginning to show beneath your dresses now, all eyes are on you”

Sansa nodded “Well, today their talk turned to more than just my showing. One girl talked of her sister, died in childbirth not three years ago. Another brought up that this is how her own Mother had left this world”

Petyr's face darkened “What kind of handmaidens do you have that would bring this up around their expecting Lady?”

“The kind that are silly girls who don't think too deeply on their words as they say them. I'm sure they meant no ill will. It is simply the way the conversation went”

“Still. I do not blame you for sending them on their way. Perhaps I shall find you new hand maidens. There are always Minor Lords more than eager to send their daughters, their nieces, to be part of your court”

Sansa nodded “I'm sure there are”

They wandered in silence for awhile, passing only the odd server or septa, who nodded humbly as they passed.

Evetually Petyr spoke again.

“Has the girls talk truly troubled you, Sansa?”

The questions was asked in earnest, with all pretence dropped as her name was uttered.

“.....So many women seem to die giving their Houses Heirs” Sansa said lowly, baring her fears.

Petyr took her hand and held into the crook of his arm, where Sansa gripped to him, held firm.

It was the most intimate touch they could permit as it was.

“And so many women birth their Heirs well and healthy. You are one of them, you have already proven that when you birthed a healthy son. You can do this again, Sansa” Petyr said fiercely. 

Sansa nodded, his words stalling her fear “I know. I will have to” she thought of all the pain of her last birth, along with the joy of holding the newborn Benjen in her arms “I will have another son”

“A brother for Benjen” Petyr added.

“I will give him as many as I can” 

The corner of Petyr's lip curled upwards “How many would you be wanting?”

“Enough to be secure in my place”

“Three? Five? Ten? True, it is wise not to place all your coins on one bet, and having other children can only benefit you, but I would say three would be plenty, maybe four. That would be more than enough”

He was making light of it, but Sansa's face was set in stone “My mother had three boys and two girls. She had thought that had been enough to never worry”

Petyr matched her gaze “....A fair point, but I would say your family is a rare case of tragedy. There is only so much we can plan for”

“You plan for everything” Sansa said, stopping where they stood.

They were alone, the halls empty but for them in this moment, not a single footstep echoing beyond the twists and turns of this part of Eyrie. She leant forward to place a kiss on his cheek, though her lips met his own through a turn of his head. She lingered for a few seconds, her mind thinking back to the first few kisses she had shared with this man. The one they shared after he gave her her 'gift'. A promise of her marriage. 

This gift held a promise behind it also.

“I will see no harm come to my children” she breathed against his skin.

She was telling him. This is what he needed to do for her. To use all his wickedness, to use that mind she feared and admired, all the resources she knew he had and ones Sansa didn't even know of.

“You are Petyr Baelish. I have seen you make men, and I have seen you break them” Sansa said with a passion she rarely showed “And you will make my children, you will pave their way, and teach them all you know, so they may get ahead, as far as they can in this world, and you will break all that stand in their way”

Petyr then claimed her mouth again, rougher, more urgently, and Sansa met his insistence. This was his promise to her.

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“The new bastard was born just yesterday” Myranda said brashly, taking a seat by Sansa in her private chambers, picking a grape from a fresh plate of fruit.

Sansa barely batted an eye, regarding Myranda's curious gaze with a tight lipped smile.

She will tell all but the lowliest of serving girls how I reacted, she thought.

“That makes the fourth one now, does it?” she said, as if discussing the weather. She would give away nothing.

Myranda nodded “He keeps himself busy, our Lord Harrold”

True that he did. 

Sansa took another grape off the vine, but she found she was no longer in the mood for it. Funny, she thought she'd gotten used to this kind of slight.

“It was only a girl. I've heard the mother has named her Lenore. Dreadful name, if you ask me”

Well, that was a courtesy at least. Just another girl.

Harry's first born bastard, the one he had had before he had even laid eyes on her, had been a boy, but the rest only girls. No fear in that. There were cases of bastard boys inheriting, rare as they were, but who could name but one Bastard girl who had managed to claim anything at all?

Not that Sansa had much cause to worry as it was. She herself had three of her own boys now. Benjen, her blessing, Jasper, the second healthy boy and now the third, Luka, being born not two months ago.

A trueborn son and a bastard born only months apart, Sansa thought, imaging her husband jumping so quick from her bed to that of another. How un-becoming.

That was of course if Luka proved to be true born at all. 

Benjen was her bastard sure, that she was certain of. Sansa would smile politely even now, when people asked her curious, and in her opinion nosy, questions of giving birth a moon turn too early. They would still wonder at how healthy he had appeared, and Sansa would hope they would not dwell on that wonder, simply waving it off, citing that he was simply 'her blessing' and they would coo, and agree, and sing her blessed boy praises.

It would not do for them to realise he had, in fact, been carried for a full term. That when her husband had returned from his battles, her moon blood had already stopped, the smallest of bumps already showing on her stomach, thankfully unnoticed.

Jasper, she had been unsure of . Harry was in his place at the Eyrie long enough before she realised she was with child again. There were no need for lies this time around, she had been a dutiful wife, sharing her husbands bed. There was no reason Jasper could not be Harry's.

But there had been late nights visits to Petyr's Solar, and as the Maester had told her, a babes eyes are like to change with time. Jasper was five now, with the same dark hair as Benjen, and grey-green eyes.

Sansa didn't know if she dared hope Luka would grow to look the same as his brothers. A part of her she couldn't ignore wanted him too, even.

Benjen, Jasper and Luka. Her three little mockingbirds, that's what they would be, mocking all that looked upon them and bowed to them as Hardyng's.


End file.
